


oh what heartache following me

by icedmachinery, icemachine



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: F/F, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:09:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27195595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedmachinery/pseuds/icedmachinery, https://archiveofourown.org/users/icemachine/pseuds/icemachine
Summary: Everyone loves Natasha.Except Dolokhov, whose situation is a bit more complicated.
Relationships: Elena "Hélène" Vasilyevna Kuragina/Natalya "Natasha" Ilyinichna Rostova, Fyodor "Fedya" Ivanovich Dolokhov/Anatole Vasilyevich Kuragin, Marya "Mary" Nikolaevna Bolkonskaya/Natalya "Natasha" Ilyinichna Rostova
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	oh what heartache following me

**Author's Note:**

> it's been 4 years since ive written a comet fic, wow! i've been hyperfixating lately so. yeah. also disclaimer: i havent' read w&p yet, but hopefully soon! this is musical-based only.

i.

At first glance, she does not like Natasha. She does not know why.

There are several reasons, pushing at the surface shallow, that she can compose in her mind: she is fashionable, beautiful, to the point of Mary making up a life for her, the Natasha in her mind being vain and frivolous and conceited, in a celestial contrast to Mary.

This, she realizes much later, her hands tending to a new wound on her father’s skin, and her mind lost in a dizzying thought of Natasha’s—

This is because Mary does not know how to handle beauty. Mary does not know how to handle much; very few things exist in her life, in her gentle-fading bubble, and outside of her realm there is a world filled with beauty that she cannot yet sink her teeth into.

That world houses Natasha, and Natasha is everything that she desires — she  _ knows  _ desire, lust (not for sex, but for  _ more _ ), in every way, in every seeping aspect of her being. She tries to hold it down, to stop the spillage and fix the wound, but - sometimes she cannot help herself, sometimes she wants a life away from her father, friends, perhaps a lover, perhaps Nata—

It disgusts her.

She watches Natasha, imagines herself watching Natasha outside of a dusty window, imagines Natasha is here for  _ her  _ and not her brother. It’s wrong. She knows that it is wrong. She knows every slice of knowledge in the universe, well-read and kind, and everything in the universe says that it is  _ wrong. _

She cannot help herself, yet again. It’s still spilling out. Love. Love wounding. Love undoing her. It’s just too much; she cannot love a woman, certainly not her brother’s betrothed, but Natasha is everything she has ever wanted to be and to hold, Natasha is admirable and gentle and beautiful.

Natasha is  _ all. _

ii.

At first glance, Helene does not know what to think of Natasha. 

Of course, some information lies factual: she is stunning, perhaps innocent in ways that Helene is not, perhaps open and fresh, and everything about her is elegant, she represents every kind of beauty. Everything that is beautiful is Natasha, and Natasha is everything beautiful.

She also knows that Anatole  _ wants  _ her. Anatole wants the entire world; Helene’s mind is a bit more realistic, but altogether forbidden. She wants Natasha. It hits her, deafening like a gunshot. 

She has never seen a woman like Natasha Rostova.

Helene has had lovers of all genders, but no woman she has known could ever find comparison against Natasha; there is something so utterly distinguishable about her, different. Helene feels herself wild, thinks about Natasha like craving -- like  _ more  _ than craving, which terrifies her decaying, the fear curling around her bone structure, Pierre —  _ Anatole — _

She can’t. Her mind cannot do this. Her mind — her mind is —

One woman. There is a very high chance that Anatole could have anyone he desired; if not for his looks, then for the right price. Natasha is one woman, and both of them are mad, both of them wish to feel her completely — but, Helene thinks, her wanting is increasingly passionate and everlasting, whereas Anatole’s needs are transient. Fleeting. He is impulsive and more than somewhat immature — this is evident. 

Helene’s wanting burns deeper than, she believes, the wanting of anyone she has ever known in the past, in the present, or will know in the future. She is a passionate woman, fire, and all of this would eventually, divinely written, culminate in this situation. In Natasha.

Natasha in her dress, pearls, something she can never touch.

iii.

Anatole has always been Dolokhov’s problem.

He is troublesome, his tendencies lie in a stubborn nature. He is brash - lively -  _ difficult -  _ but —

Dolokhov loves him. That is the end of every letter, every literary masterpiece, everything recorded;  _ Dolokhov loves him.  _ Dolokhov loves Anatole and cannot figure out why; he has loved Anatole since the moment his gaze found Anatole for the first time, dissecting him. He has loved Anatole since the first humans blossomed here. He loves Anatole. He loves Anatole, and that is the problem.

Despite the fact that everything about Anatole has been a problem at some point, his fondness for the man rages on, an ocean soaked against a storm, a wildfire in some distant land that cannot ever be extinguished, destroys. Dolokhov cares for him like destroying and he always does this, Anatole  _ always  _ gets himself into trouble -- and now he is going to elope with Natasha, an abandonment of all that Dolokhov has built, all that he has loved for the past few eternities. He isn’t thinking clearly; his mind is clouded by lust, and this is a feeling that Dolokhov knows well or could know well in some different kind of world where Anatole—-

Neither of them are thinking clearly. This situation is too complicated for him to bear, too difficult for him to carry on his back like the world’s burden.

Dolokhov loves him. 

Perhaps, he thinks, this can be fixed. 

**Author's Note:**

> like i said it's been a while since i've written great comet so be nice, but comments (totally typed that as comet on accident) and kudos appreciated ^.^ title from free by depeche mode


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